


Gold at Both Ends

by TheLittleSongbird



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Background Victuuri - Freeform, M/M, Otabek's stuff bear, Underage Drinking, Unrequited Love, of the Plisetsky variety, which isn't a euphemism I swear, which isn't so unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleSongbird/pseuds/TheLittleSongbird
Summary: Yuri shrugs in return, “I guess Viktor gave Katsudon some stupid ultimatum--he said he wanted to kiss his gold medal when he won the Grand Prix. But Katsudon won silver, and so Viktor....”“Gets to kiss Yuuri Katsuki instead of a piece of metal?” Otabek finishes. “Seems like Katsuki didn’t really lose at all.”Or that one time where Otabek kisses Yuri's gold medal and Yuri has an aneurysm.





	1. Chapter 1

He hears it as he heads towards the edge of the rink, neck weighed down by the medal draped over his head. Katsudon has already stepped off the ice, his eyes watering in front of Viktor, clutching his silver medal tightly in his grip.

“I don’t want to kiss it unless it’s gold,” Viktor tells Yuuri, smiling in that obnoxiously teasing way that has Yuuri sputtering to respond.

Yuri scoffs, stepping off the ice and shrugging into the team jacket offered by Yakov. Stupid Katsudon. Stupid Viktor. Stupid happy couples with their happiness and celebratory kissing. Yuri grimaces at the two as Katsudon tackles Viktor to the ground and asks him to coach him for another year. Viktor looks like he’s going to start crying tears of joy.

Yuri bolts the fuck out of there.

He stalks into the locker room, feet aching in ways he didn’t think were possible anymore. He knows he overexerted himself in his Free Skate. Even though he fell, even though he didn’t get a perfect score, Yuri can feel his bones and muscles crying out in agony. The exhaustion that had been building up for the past three days is finally beginning to hit him, and the only thing Yuri really wants is a hot bath and a warm bed. His energy is all but wasted, and Yuri is ready to finally, _finally_ , call it a day and sleep for a thousand years.

“Yuri!” he turns at the call of his name, his mind hiccupping for a moment and thinking it must be another reporter. But then his brain catches up to his ears and registers the Kazakh accent a moment before Otabek is standing by his side.

“Otabek. Were you waiting for me?” It’s foolish of him to ask, foolish of him to think that Otabek would wait out the medal ceremony just to say hello. It’s not like they won’t see each other again tonight--as much as Yuri dislikes the idea of going to the GPF Banquet, as the gold medalist, he’s practically required to make an appearance.

Otabek’s lips quirk in a lopsided smile, and Yuri clenches his fist, digging his nails purposefully into his palm--he shouldn’t be paying so much attention to Otabek’s mouth. “I was watching the ceremony,” Otabek replies, “They rushed you back on the ice so quickly I didn’t get the chance to say congratulations.”

 _Oh._ Otabek smiles again, and Yuri can feel the heat beginning to rise in his face. He clamps down the urge to hug him and scoffs instead, the aggressive coming easier than genuine gratitude. “Well, you’ve said it now. So there’s no need to hover around here anymore.”

Yuri wait for Otabek to yell at him, to cast him off, to call him a childish brat and leave him alone, but of course, he doesn’t. He just smirks and shrugs his shoulders. “I’ll see you at the banquet, right?” he asks, as if he was asking Yuri for the weather.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, whatever--” Yuri tries to brush the question off, avoiding Otabek’s gaze, eyes falling to the stuffed bear tucked underneath his arm. It’s dressed to match Otabek’s free skate costume, all white and blue. “Are those….epaulettes?” he asks absentmindedly, focusing on the intricate details adorning the bear’s costume.

Another shrug. “You have your fans, Yuri. I have mine.” And with that, Otabek turns and heads in the opposite direction, back into the crowd of awaiting reporters and fans. Yuri watches him go, mindfully ignoring the flip in his stomach at the memory of the smile Otabek gave him so freely.

 

* * *

 

Yuri stands awkwardly at the table serving flutes of champagne, sneaking a third glass after Christophe tried to goad him into a repeat dance off with Katsudon. The Swiss skater continued to bemoan to Yuri about the lack of excitement at this year’s banquet (as if Yuri would ever be interested in making small talk with Christophe), until Viktor interrupted their conversation and pulled the Swiss away to brag about his fiance. Yuri had reached his tolerance of social activity for the evening, and the only thing that could possibly help the situation was as much alcohol as possible.

His watch only reads 9PM, which means Yuri has to stick it out for at least another hour before he can sneak back up to his room and pass out. The banquet hall is brimming with his fellow skaters, though none of them bother to approach him. He had pawned Mila off to Sara Crispino at the start of the banquet, so he was blessedly alone for the rest of the night. Or at least, for as long as he can glare at anyone trying to approach him.

Yuri drains the rest of his glass and picks up another.

“Aren’t you too young to be drinking?” Yuri starts, turning to his side and seeing Otabek there, a flute of champagne in his own hand and a smirk on his face.

“Are you going to arrest me or something?”

“No, but Yakov might want to know that his best skater is getting drunk during a public event.”

Yuri glares at Otabek, but he can’t put any malice behind it. He’s not sure whether it’s because of Otabek himself or because he’s just too drunk to put energy into it.

“Fuck off, Altin.” He grumbles, downing his third glass. Or was it his fourth? “Should you even be drinking? You carried a fucking stuffed bear around all day.”

“Mr. Bear would not appreciate you bad mouthing him, Yuri.” Otabek grins, and Yuri can feel the alcohol warming his cheeks in response as Otabek glances up and down his body, stopping to nod at his chest. “Wanted to show it off a little more?”

Yuri looks down at his own suit, where his gold medal rests behind the folds of his lapels. He didn’t mean to wear the damn thing to the banquet, but he had been in such awe of his history-making win that he figured it wouldn’t hurt to wear it for a little longer.

“I like rubbing it in the face of Viktor and Katsudon,” he says, nodding across the banquet hall to where Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor are currently making out. “The little piggy was so upset when Viktor refused to kiss his medal because it wasn’t gold.”

Otabek quirks his brow. “What?”

Yuri shrugs in return, “I guess Viktor gave Katsudon some stupid ultimatum--he said he wanted to kiss his gold medal when he won the Grand Prix. But Katsudon won silver, and so Viktor....”

“Gets to kiss Yuuri Katsuki instead of a piece of metal?” Otabek finishes. “Seems like Katsuki didn’t really lose at all.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. I won gold. That’s what matters. And _you--”_ Yuri jabs his finger into Otabek’s chest, hard. “ _You_ should have won bronze at least. Stupid JJ shouldn’t have been on the podium at all.”

Otabek shrugs--Yuri was getting tired of Otabek’s shrugs. “Both JJ’s performances had higher technical points to start with. I’m not surprised he got bronze.”

“But he fucked up _both_ his short program and free skate.”

“I’ll just have to try harder next year. Especially since there will be two Yuri’s that I’ll have to beat.” Otabek smirks at him, and Yuri scoffs in response.

“Yeah right. Katsudon, maybe. But me? Keep dreaming.”

Otabek nods, “You’re probably right. You make for very tough competition. So I guess, until then…” he trails off, suddenly reaching out towards Yuri, taking the gold medal in hand and raising it off from wear it rests on Yuri’s chest.

Yuri can barely breath and Otabek lifts the medal to his lips and kisses it softly, his eyes closed in reverence. He can feel his pulse in his throat, his heart against his ribcage, his stomach twisting in knots, and Yuri swears that time stops for a moment. He wants to grab hold of Otabek and cover his mouth with his own, smother him in kisses and warmth and everything his mind can think of. His fingernails are digging into his palms, and he’s gone as still as a rock, watching Otabek kiss his goddamn medal like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like he doesn’t know it’s driving Yuri crazy.

Otabek pulls back and stands up straight, placing the medal back down against Yuri’s chest. It feels like the whole world has shifted. Yuri tries to breathe steadily, trying to mask the hyperventilation that is occurring in his brain and in his lungs. He feels as if he has tunnel vision and warped hearing, and he’s not sure anymore if it’s the alcohol in his system or they way Otabek is smiling at him.

“I’ll have to make do with this, I guess,” Otabek says, his fingers trailing down the gold medal one last time before he tucks his hand into his pocket. He turns back towards the party.

“You should get some sleep, Yura. You had a long day.” Yuri can do nothing in response but nod, his hand coming up to wrap around his medal, frantically trying to ground himself while his world settles back on its axis. Otabek smiles one last time at him. “And again, congratulations.”

 

* * *

 

Yuri stares up at the ceiling of his hotel room, smothered in the bed’s comforter, trying to force sleep to come. Instead, he keeps replaying the encounter with Otabek at the banquet over and over again.

How was he expected to sleep when Otabek just sauntered into his life on his stupid fucking motorcycle and stole him away for a day? How was he expected to sleep when Otabek said he had the eyes of a soldier, that he had admired him for five years? How was he expected to sleep and go back to his normal routine in Russia when Otabek fucking Altin kissed his gold medal at the GPF Banquet in front of all their fellow skaters?

Yuri kicks the comforter off of his frame, suddenly feeling much too hot in his own skin. He glances over to his half-packed suitcase and catches a sliver of moonlight bouncing off the surface of his medal. He trudges over to his bag and picks up the medal by its ribbon, letting the gold twist and turn on its own, glinting every time it catches the light from outside his window.

He imagines, if he looks close enough, he can see a smudge on the lower edge of the medal, where Otabek’s lips brushed it for a moment. Yuri throws the medal back down onto his pile of clothes, grumbling to himself. _Don’t be an idiot_ , he thinks. Why bother getting worked up over something as small as that? He’s not a child--he doesn’t need to go developing crushes on fellow skaters. That kind of behavior was for idiots like Viktor Nikiforov. Yuri had more important things to worry about. Like the World Championship. And his program for next year. And…

The soft sound of knocking catches Yuri’s ear. He turns to the door of his room, half certain he imagined it. But then, a few seconds later, the knocking returns--polite and quiet, as if not meaning to disturb Yuri’s sleep. He glances over to the clock by the bed. 1:32 AM.

He stands in the middle of his room, waiting for the knocking to return. A minute passes. Then two. The room is quiet. Yuri cautiously steps over to the door, closing one eye to peer through the peep hole. Outside, the hotel hallway is empty.

 _Probably just some drunk idiot from downstairs,_ Yuri tells himself, huffing out an exasperated breath as he yanks open his door to the hallway. He stops short.

Sitting on the floor in front of Yuri’s hotel room is a stuffed bear dressed in a white and blue coat, with elaborate epaulettes on the tiny costume. A small card sits in front of the bear, and when Yuri grabs the bear from off the floor, he flicks the card open.

_Take good care of him for me. I’ll see you next time._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Since the previous Grand Prix, Otabek had slid easily into Yuri’s life. Almost too easily. They talked every Sunday, over Skype or over the phone if they were traveling. The weekly talks had been Otabek’s idea at first, but Yuri would still get anxious on Sunday, if his phone or laptop didn’t go off at exactly 7 PM. He still worried that at any moment, the other shoe would drop, Otabek would realize the mistake he made in befriending Yuri, and would stop calling, cutting himself out of Yuri’s life as easily as he appeared into it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't intending to write a second chapter of this. But then my hands slipped. I'm considering making this a series of what happens each year, but work is really REALLY busy at the moment, so please don't expect it. I also want to work on a Kimi No Na Wa/Your Name AU for these two dorks, but that'll take plenty of planning and time, so if that happens, it'll be a while off.
> 
> The song Yuri and Otabek listen to is Steve James - Renaissance ft. Clairity. I imagine Otabek's DJ style is like k?d, who does a really great remix of this song.

If Yuri Plitsetsky had one true enemy, it was a needle and thread.

It’s not like he had never sewn before – he had repaired enough holes in his costumes to work out the basic mechanics of stitching.  It’s just that he had never made anything from scratch, and right now, he was panicking.

It was a week out from the Grand Prix, and while Yuri felt comfortable in both his short program and free skate, he was more agitated than necessary for the competition.

He blamed Otabek Altin.

Since the previous Grand Prix, Otabek had slid easily into Yuri’s life. Almost too easily.  They talked every Sunday, over Skype or over the phone if they were traveling. The weekly talks had been Otabek’s idea at first, but Yuri would still get anxious on Sunday, if his phone or laptop didn’t go off at exactly 7 PM.  He still worried that at any moment, the other shoe would drop, Otabek would realize the mistake he made in befriending Yuri, and would stop calling, cutting himself out of Yuri’s life as easily as he appeared into it.

But Otabek never failed to call, never complained about Yuri’s agitated nature, and never seemed to bore of their conversations. It filled Yuri with equal amounts of pride and dread.

“Shit.” Yuri yelps as he pricks his finger on the needle again. He pushes his nail against the flesh of his thumb until a tiny bead of blood rose onto his skin.  Sticking the pad of his thumb into his mouth, Yuri glares at the small pile of fabric in his lap.

Sitting on the desk across from the bed, a stuffed bear dressed in blue and white stares blankly back at Yuri. Yuri turns his scathing glare to the bear. The stupid stuffed animal had lived in Yuri’s room, and occasionally Yuri’s suitcase, for the past year. A reminder of Yuri’s crowning moment of embarrassment.

_Take good care of him for me. I’ll see you next time._

It wouldn’t happen this year. Yuri was sure of it.

“And fuck you too,” Yuri growls at the bear, quickly tying off his thread and snipping the end.

 

* * *

 

The tears burns in the back of Yuri’s throat, demanding to be spilled, but the Russian refuses to let them fall.  He refuses to show the pain, refuses to give the reporters and commentators reason to pity him. Refuses to be anything but the Ice Tiger of Russian.

But the throbbing in his ankle makes it hard to feel like anything but the disappointment he is.

He had failed. Failed spectacularly. He landed on the wrong edge of his skate coming out of a Quad Salchow – his goddamn signature move! – and landed hard on his ankle. Not hard enough to stop him from finishing his free skate, but definitely hard enough to turn every quad and triple into a single, and seriously fuck up his step sequence.

The audience had applauded, but it was out of pity for the fallen Champion, and Yuri felt the disappointment deep in his bones. The medics had wrapped his ankle in a brace, declaring with sympathetic smiles that it was just a sprain – it would heal eventually, but it was recommended that he not compete in Russian Nationals or Worlds.

The wave of cold that goes through Yuri’s body has nothing to do with the ice as he watches the medalists take the podium. Yuuri Katsuki had finally gotten his gold medal, smiling and crying as Japan’s national anthem plays. Viktor, after his year-long break, looks strangely elated over the bronze hanging from his neck – possibly because he’s paying more attention to the gold adorning his fiancé.

Standing on the other side of Katsudon, his face stoic as ever, is Otabek, and Yuri takes at least a bit of solace in seeing the silver medal resting against his best friend’s chest.

Yuri desperately wants to be up there, to have defended his title, or even to have knocked Viktor from the podium with a bronze.  But even if he had clawed his way onto the podium with his dismal free skate, Yuri would know it was just another act of pity. He deserved his place on the bottom. It was no one’s fault but his own.

He can’t watch anymore. It hurts to much – burns like bile in his throat. Yuri turns and heads towards the locker rooms, leaning against the wall to keep his weight off his bad foot.

Out of view and earshot from everyone, Yuri clutches his duffle to his chest and lets the tears fall, keeping his sobs as quiet as possible. His ankle burns, his heart aches, and Yuri feels utterly useless. He was nothing without the ice, and now he can’t return to the ice for months. Without it, Yuri doesn’t know who he is.

What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to stay away from skating until his ankle heals? Would his sponsors drop him? If they did, he would be tight on rent, and if he wasn’t making money with his competition winnings—

Yuri feels his chest constrict, his sobs coming out choked, his breathes short. He feels dizzy. His head is spinning with “what ifs” and every worse-case-scenario that comes to mind. What if he doesn’t heal fast enough? What if he can’t make a comeback if he did heal? What if he panics the next time he did a Salchow and fucks up his ankle again? What if he never skates again? He was already struggling with his changing body. What if he can’t recover?

He can’t breathe. He feels like he’s drowning in his own tears. They won’t stop – the tears were choking him. His vision blurs– he can’t see anything.

He needs to breathe. He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe. He can’t--

“Yurio?”

Yuri clutches his bag tighter, curling in on himself. He doesn’t want Katsudon to see him like this, to see how pathetically weak he really is. But he still can’t force more air into his lungs.

Hands rest gently on his shoulders, and Yuri desperately looks up from staring at the floor. Yuuri kneels in front of him, worry in his eyes.

“Hey. Hey, Yurio. It’s okay. You’re okay. Look at me. You need to regulate your breathing, alright?” Yuuri speaks in a soothing voice, his hands grounding Yuri, the warmth spreading from his palms into the younger man’s shoulders.

Yuri shakes his head violently. “I’m fine,” he chokes out, trying to move out from Katsuki’s grip.

“You’re having a panic attack. It’ll pass, but you need to take a deep breath for me, okay?” Yuuri breathes in to demonstrate, and Yuri tries to follow suit.

His breathing is static, feeling like his own lungs are betraying him and choking him. He coughs on the exhale, and a fresh wave of tears follows. “I can’t—” he sputters, trying to wipe the tears and snot from his eyes. “I can’t do it. I—I failed—I won’t be able—”

“Yurio, listen to me,” Katsuki’s voice is soft, but holds authority. “You didn’t fail. You are the best skater in the world.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. My final score didn’t even _touch_ your score from last year. I’ve been exactly where you are. I know it feels like everything is ending, I know what it’s like to not know where to go from here. But you need to breathe, okay? You are going to be okay. You are going to be amazing, Yurio. Just breathe.” Yuuri demonstrates another long inhale, and Yuri finds it in himself to concentrate on pulling air into his lungs. He breathes out, and while shaky, the feeling of choking subsides. The next breath is easier, and after a third, Yuri can feel the tears beginning to stop.

Katsuki smiles gently at him. “Good. You’re doing great. It’ll pass, I promise.” Yuri nods and takes in another breath, and he can feel his heart rate returning to normal. He flushes, embarrassed by the outburst, but the other Yuuri’s hands weigh him down, and he doesn’t feel quite as alone.

When his breathing returns to normal, and his vision clears, Yuuri nods and smiles warmly, standing back up. “I’ll get you a glass of water, okay?”

As Katsuki turns to leave, Yuri grabs his wrist and holds onto it tightly. Katsuki stops and turns back.

“Don’t tell anyone about this. Please.” Yuri’s voice is barely a whisper, but he knows the Japanese skater heard him.

“Of course, Yuri. No one has to know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri skips the banquet. He was instructed to keep his foot elevated to help with the swelling, and while any other time Yuri would have refused the medic’s orders, he used the mandated bedrest as an excuse to hide from the other skaters. The last thing he needs is their pity while they look sadly at his bandaged ankle.

His hotel room is cold, but Yuri can’t find it in himself to get out of bed and change the thermostat. Instead, he wraps himself tighter in his blankets, clutching the stuffed bear to his chest.

Yes, the stupid bear Otabek gave him last season. Yuri brought it with him, mostly to tease Otabek with it, but also because of the simple fact that Yuri has a hard time sleeping during competitions without it. It wasn’t intentional – he couldn’t give a shit about the bear, really – but every competition, the bear wound up in his luggage, and he keeps it close to make sure he doesn’t leave it behind at one of the hotels.

Yuri turns on the television in his room, hoping to drown out the noise of his neighbors and finally get some sleep, but a moment later, a knock comes at the door. Yuri mutes the television and waits, staring at the door and daring it to make another sound. If someone other than Viktor or Katsudon wants to visit him, they would have to fuck right off. Yuri wasn’t in a welcoming mood.

Another knock at the door. Yuri bristles with agitation.

“Hey, shithead. Fuck off.” He raises his voice at the door, hoping whoever was behind it would get the message. He waits a moment. Silence. Yuri smirks, satisfied, and sinks down into the covers of his bed.

Another knock at the door.

“Fucking hell,” Yuri grumbles to himself, yanking the covers off his body and gingerly stepping down from the bed. He presses his weight against the wall as he shuffles over to the door, the slight pain in his ankle making him hiss.

He throws the door open, scowling. “Listen fucker, I’m not—”

“Hey.”

Yuri’s protest dies in his throat. Otabek Altin stands there in the doorway, sweatpants and a t-shirt on, and a bag of what smells like fast food in his hand. His hair is still damp as if he had just taken a shower. He was….not at the banquet.

He should be at the banquet.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Yuri asks, his voice pinched. Otabek simply holds up the paper bag of fast food.

“Do you want to eat with me or not?” Otabek smirks, and Yuri eyes the grease stains at the bottom of the bag. Well, it’s not like he needs to watch his weight anytime soon.

Yuri silently opens the door to his room, and Otabek walks in, settling himself in the lounge chair across from the bed. Yuri leans against the door and crosses his arms, forcing an unconvincing glare at his friend.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Oh? Where should I be?” Otabek doesn’t look his way, just simply begins to take out two cheeseburgers wrapped in wax paper. He holds one out to Yuri.

Yuri rolls his eyes and strides forward. He winces at the pain in his ankle. Otabek stands up immediately.

“Sorry, I forgot--” the Kazakh starts.

“I’m fine. I don’t need to be coddled.” Yuri brushes him off, taking the proffered food from Otabek and sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. Otabek watches him carefully for a moment before unwrapping his own burger and taking a bite.

Around a mouthful of food, Yuri speaks up. “You should be at the banquet, you idiot.”

Otabek just shrugs, “Never been a fan of them, to be honest. And I didn’t see the point in going if my best friend wasn’t going to be there.”

Yuri feels a blush rising in his cheeks, his breath catching. He thinks for a split second that this might be another panic attack, but it passes so quickly that Yuri is certain it can’t be. He hides his face behind a curtain of blonde hair, silently stuffing his burger in his mouth to keep from saying anything stupid.

The two of them eat in silence for a while, parsing out what to say to each other. Then, Otabek gives Yuri a small smile. “I know you don’t want to hear it. But your program--”

“Don’t.” Yuri says quietly. “Don’t try to placate me. I don’t want to hear it, not from you. I fucked up, and now I’m paying the consequences.”

“Okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Thank you.”

The two fall into silence, the only sounds coming from the crinkling of wax paper. Yuri glances over at Otabek, examining the older boy’s sharp features, the freshly trimmed undercut fading into the mess of damp black hair. He didn’t have to come visit Yuri. He didn’t have to buy them food, he didn’t have to bail on the banquet for him. But he did. Yuri has no idea why. But he wants Otabek to stay as long as he can.

“Do you…” Yuri starts, but quickly dismisses the fleeting idea. Otabek looks up, and Yuri feels a tightening in his chest. Otabek quirks a brow, silently bidding Yuri to continue.

“I found some new music the other day. Thought you would be interested in listening to it. If...you know, you wanted to…” Yuri trails off, sure that Otabek would think him silly. Otabek was always the one to find good music -- DJing was his off-ice hobby, after all. He probably already knew the music Yuri found, the song that instantly reminded him of Otabek--

“I’d love to.”

What? Yuri jerks his head up, staring wide-eyed at Otabek in shock. Otabek simply grins back, and the nerves that had creeped up on Yuri dissipate instantly. Yuri finds himself grinning wide in return, and with an excited “Okay!”, he crawls over the top of his bed, grabbing his phone and earbuds from the bedside table. He leans against the headboard as Otabek walks to the other side of the bed and takes a seat next to him.

“You’ve probably heard it before, but I thought it would be a cool song for you to remix sometime.” Yuri offers the other earbud to Otabek, who graciously takes it and places it inside his ear.

Yuri’s hands shake just the slightest bit as he finds the song on one of his apps and presses played, letting the synthesized vocals bleed into their ears. They sit in silence for a moment, letting the music wash over them -- the slow piano that shifts steadily into an upbeat breakdown.

“Yeah. I like this.” Otabek finally says after about a minute and a half. Yuri beams widely as he continues, “I think I can do something with it. Thanks for the suggestion, Yuri.” Otabek grins again, and if Yuri could smile wider, he would have.

“You really think so? I mean, it’s not the greatest song in the world, but I figured you could--”

“Yuri.” Otabek pauses, looking off from Yuri’s face.

“Yeah?”

“What’s that?” Yuri follows his friend’s sightline, only to notice that Otabek is staring at a pair of stuffed animals that had fallen off the bed.

Yuri swallows hard. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Yuri hadn’t stowed them away when Otabek had knocked, and now the evidence was there, on the floor.

“Nothing…” Yuri tries to clamor over to the stuffed animals in an attempt to hide them, but Otabek stands and picks them up from off the floor. Embarrassed, Yuri hides his face in his hands.

The bear is recognizable enough, the same one that Otabek had gifted Yuri last year following the Grand Prix final. It’s still dressed in a miniature version of Otabek’s free skate costume from the previous competition season, though it’s outfit is wrinkled from the several times Yuri had cuddled it.

The other animal is new, a small stuffed tiger that Yuri had found on a trip to Japan a few months ago. It wears a small pair of black pants, black tank top, and a purple blazer over top. Yuri spent a long time hand sewing the outfit himself, in the hopes of teasing Otabek about it at this year’s Grand Prix. It seems like an incredibly foolish idea now.

Otabek stares at the tiger, brow furrowed. “Is this… your outfit from last year’s exhibition?” He finally asks, and Yuri wants to shrink into himself. The last thing he needs is his best friend to make fun of him for keeping a stuffed bear, and then dressing up a stuffed tiger. He must look like such a child.

“It’s nothing…” Yuri mumbles into his hands.

“Yuri.”

“Fine,” Yuri grumbles, “I thought since you gave me your bear last year, I would… you know… return the favor. It’s dumb, okay? It’s totally stupid. Can we just… forget about this, okay?” Yuri’s face goes hot as he flushes all over. Otabek just continues to stare at the fucking stuffed tiger.

“You made this?” He asks, and Jesus Christ, why isn’t he laughing? Why is he still holding the damn thing?

“Yeah, so what? Like I said, it’s dumb. So just give it back so I can throw it out--” Yuri leans over the bed and extends his hand to grab the tiger back, but Otabek pulls it out of reach. Yuri glares at him, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m keeping it.”

“WHAT?!”

Otabek shrugs. “Seems only fair. You stole my bear last year.”

Yuri sputters, unsure of what to say. “You… you _gave_ me your dumb bear. I didn’t steal it!”

Another shrug. “Even so, I’ll hang onto this guy. At least until your ankle recovers.”

Otabek looks so determined, so set in his decision, that Yuri instantly deflates. His friend is a fucking idiot. “So you’re… not weirded out?”

Otabek furrows his brow. “Why would I be? Like you said, you returned the favor. And I like it,” he glances down at the tiger and smiles softly. Yuri’s chest clenches _hard_. He groans and schools his regular scowl on his face, attempting to seem completely unphased.

“Fine. Do whatever you want. I don’t care. It’s just a dumb toy anyway.” He grumbles and snatches the bear from Otabek. The two friends stare at each other, stuffed animals in hand. Yuri feels like an idiot. Otabek looks at Yuri and smiles.

“It’s too bad.”

Yuri raises a brow. “What is?”

Otabek shrugs again, speaking nonchalantly, “If I had known you would be giving me this because I gave you my bear, I should’ve brought my medal up here too.”

“Why? So you could mock me after my complete and utter failure?”

Otabek smirks again. Yuri feels his stomach flip.

“No. So I could make you kiss it.”

Yuri nearly has a heart attack.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
